


A Terrible, Horrible, No Good Idea

by Enigma3000



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, PWP, Sex, Smut, aman loves him anyway, i spent one whole week on this dear god, kartik is a smug little bitch, op is going to hell, op needs god, op needs holy water, sex but make it loving, thats all this is, thats it, thats it thats the plot, they do it on a table, top kartik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000
Summary: Aman finally, finally bought a new desk to house all his work. And Kartik has... certain ideas on how to welcome it into their home.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 110





	A Terrible, Horrible, No Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing smut please excuse the. everything.

“Absolutely not.” Aman said, shaking his head with a lot more vigour than Kartik thought was warranted. The idea Aman was shooting down- it wasn’t an unreasonable suggestion. If anything, Kartik was quite proud that he had thought of it.

“But _why?”_ Kartik whined.

He drew out the “why” significantly longer than Aman would have preferred, to the point of being annoying. And that was exactly why he did it.

“Because,” Aman huffed, “it’s ridiculous. And, not to mention, unhygienic.”

The pout that momentarily flitted across his boyfriend’s face at his refusal, made Aman’s resilience falter a little, but he caught himself just in time.

Nope. Not a chance he would agree to this. Kartik didn’t have terrible, horrible, no good ideas that often, but this was definitely one of them.

He promised himself, yet again, for the 5th time that evening that he simply wouldn’t give in. The list of things Kartik couldn’t puppy-stare his way into was woefully short, but Aman would make damn sure this was on that list.

‘This,’ of course, referred to Kartik’s stellar plan to “break Aman’s brand new desk in.”

By having sex on it.

* * *

  
Aman was teaching physics in a nearby high school, now. It had been two years since he had quit his job as a toothpaste salesman _(kya aapke toothpaste me pyar hai?_ Still haunted his every waking moment) and decided to pursue his dreams of teaching. Things had been going well too, until his workload increased dramatically overnight, and he was more or less forced into bringing some (read: a lot) of his work home.

Kartik had been an absolute dear about it, understanding and helpful as ever. He was more than willing to put up with the late nights, the bad days, and the overwhelming evenings because he was proud of his boyfriend.

Proud of what he was doing, proud of how hard he was working for his career. Being supportive of everything, _everything_ Aman did was practically second nature to Kartik.

But every man has to draw a line somewhere, and Kartik drew his at finding papers and assignments and notebooks in places where such things absolutely should not have been. On the kitchen table, on the couch, in the bathroom sink, in the fridge (what the _fuck-_ ), just... everywhere.

Kartik hadn’t been too bad a student when he was in school, but nobody likes being reminded of that time. All those hours lost, waiting for class after agonising class to just be over. Nobody likes to be reminded of the actual physical torture that was sitting through an hour long lecture with nothing but an open window and a click pen to save their dwindling sanity.

All that omnipresent schoolwork, however, did exactly that, and Kartik screamed bloody murder when he collapsed into his bed after a tired day, right into a concerningly giant stack of worksheets.

It was horrifying.

And if that wasn’t enough, Kartik began finding Aman in places where he probably should not have been, unless he wanted to irreparably ruin his spine by the age of 35. His favourite places included: the floor, in the middle of their damn living room, their dining table, and of course, their bed.

Nothing killed the mood faster than finding “S.Chand: physics for class 10” in your bed. Nothing.

The final straw had been a very exhausted Aman sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs in the sink, hunched over a revoltingly thick textbook that sat on his knees.

Kartik finally, _finally_ managed to convince Aman that it was about time he invested in a desk. He had been oddly insistent that he didn’t need one.

_(“I can make do just fine without-”_

_“Listen, jaaneman, I know you’re scared, I know a desk is a symbol of commitment, and you’re worried the teaching job won’t work out, and you’ll be left with a table shaped token of disappointment, etc etc. But we both know that’s a load of bullshit and you’re fucking great at this. Plus, if I find a pen in the spoon drawer one more time I will walk out of this house.”_

_Aman had smiled at that. softly, shyly, as he often did when Kartik showered him with compliments, no matter how well deserved._

_“...thank you, Kartik, that means so much to-”_

_“I will. Fucking. Walk out.”)_

And so, Kartik’s laptop was turned on, a beautiful piece made of mahogany was chosen, and the order was placed. All within five minutes. The arrival, however, was estimated to be about two weeks, and that had very nearly put tears of unadulterated pain in Kartik’s eyes.

Two weeks passed by almost unfairly slowly, as they often do when you’re impatiently waiting for something. Finally, the day had arrived, and Kartik had come alarmingly close to hugging the delivery men.

It had been delivered an hour ago, while Aman was still at school trying to make mechanics interesting for a bunch of bored teenagers (And quite successfully, if he may add.)

Kartik couldn’t help but admire the table. It was more beautiful than it was in the pictures, a fancy work of art, the kind with more cabinets and shelves and drawers than anyone ever really knows what to do with.

Kartik had taken a break from his bar and left a trusted employee in his place, specifically for the purpose of being there when the desk came. He had it proudly placed in their spare room, in front of the wall opposite to the door. It was the only thing in the room, as of now, but that would change with time.

He broke out the giant cover full of stationery he had bought earlier that day, with the intent of having Aman’s desk looking all organised and inviting by the time he came back.

Fifteen minutes later, as he stared at his own completed handiwork, Kartik found himself entertaining with an utterly devious idea.

Aman wouldn’t be the only one to enjoy this new desk.

* * *

“Aman, come on yaar,” Kartik tilted his head.

“I need your touch.”

The last sentence was spoken in a slow, seductive whisper, punctuated by a delicate finger being placed under Aman’s chin and raising his head ever-so-slightly. Aman's answering murderous stare did exactly the opposite of what it was intended to do, and only served to spur his endorphin flooded idiot of a boyfriend on further.

Kartik upped the ante. The smile faded away, making way for something worse.

So much worse.

He let his lips part just a little, just a touch, in that stupidly alluring way that always caught Aman in the chest. Eyed Aman up and down, like he was picking out what part of his clothes to do away with first. Then chose to look right into Aman’s eyes, letting his gaze bore right into them like he fully intended to make it very clear what was going on in his head at the moment.

Oh, this was _not_ fair.

Kartik knew exactly what that head tilt did to Aman, knew exactly what that whispering and those hooded eyes and the- the lip thing did to him. And he was taking full advantage.

This fucking game was rigged.

And aman was losing.

He paused to think about it. He could spare an hour, maybe, his veritable fucking mountain of test papers weren’t going anywhere. Unfortunately.

But he drew the line about 8 miles behind sullying his place of work with an imprint of his backside. Aman wanted to walk into that room with that table and think about everything that was on that table, not what had been on it at some point. The table was a symbol of sanctity. It was a place for productivity, it was-

Aman sighed.

It was also the perfect goddamn height for them, which made it all the more inconvenient for Aman to stand steadfast.

And the look Kartik was giving him, coy and smug like he knew it was only a matter of time before Aman would break, was not helping matters. Not one bit.

But Aman Tripathi was not one to change his mind easily when it had been set once. In fact, it had taken four tries for Kartik to convince Aman that grey was not a good colour for a bedroom. He also tried to convince him that wall-sized abstract art was the way to go _(it’s the colours of the wind, Aman)._ But that had been every goddamn shade (pardon the pun) of sheer absurdity. So they had compromised and settled on red.

If Aman chose to apply the same principles here, the one compromise possible was for Aman to agree to the party, but not the venue. They could take this to their aggressively vibrant bedroom. Why traumatise the poor table?

Kartik, however, seemed hell-bent upon going at it right there, instead of moving to their painfully dull bedroom. He was just as stubborn as Aman about a few things, if not more. If he wanted to fuck Aman into the tabletop until his legs couldn’t carry him anymore, then by god that was exactly what he was going to do.

Aman tried his best anyway. No one said he wasn’t a competitive, determined little shit.

“And you can have it,” Aman stated, rolling his eyes at the undeniably adorable pout that flitted across Kartik’s expression.

“Just… not on my brand new table, Kartik, what the hell has gotten into you?”

Kartik’s response was a glare, coupled with his mouth falling wide open in a very dramatic, very Kartik-like fashion. As if Aman had just horribly insulted his ancestors.

No, not his ancestors. Like Aman had insulted amitabh bacchan.

Kartik huffed in mock outrage.

“Well certainly not you!”

Oh.

Okay, that-

That was genius, Aman had no choice but to admit that much. Kartik had seen his chance and snatched it right out of the air. Somewhat akin to a particularly hungry seagull yanking a bag of chips out of an unsuspecting 5th grader’s hands.

He couldn’t believe he had walked right into that. Then again, Kartik Singh was nothing if not a bunch of surprises and relentless wit all wrapped in a shiny rainbow ribbon. And Aman loved him to pieces for it.

Aman bit his lower lip to stifle a laugh. Which, Kartik being Kartik, obviously interpreted as a sure sign that his seductive charms were working.

They were.

But that was besides the damn point.

He attempted one last hail mary, because Aman Tripathi was nothing if not a fighter, and fighters go down fighting. One last try before he inevitably (NO. not inevitably. He could still win) gave in to Kartik’s exceptionally effective persuasion, and dropped to his knees right there. Not that he was thinking of dropping to his knees right there, of course. Because he wasn’t. Nope.

“But what about all the things you’ve arranged on it? You put so much effort into organising my books, and my pens, and that cute little mug-”

He was interrupted, however, by an impatient Kartik shoving him aside, wholeheartedly disregarding the very indignant sound that escaped him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Aman asked, rightfully offended.

He received his answer not in words, but in a sharp flick of Kartik’s arms, the sound of objects sliding across a polished surface, and the clatter of stationery hitting the ground.

Kartik had swiped Aman’s things clean off the table.

_What the fuck._

“...Kartik,” Aman buried his face in his hand.

“Mhm?” Kartik replied easily, his face the very picture of innocence.

Bastard.

“Please tell me you didn’t spend time organising my desk just to… do that.”

The innocent little smile didn’t leave his face, not for a second, and Aman found himself yearning to kiss it off him. The urge got palpably more intense when Kartik stepped forward and gently laid his hands on either side of Aman’s waist. In that loving way he always did, when the need to hold his boyfriend overtook every fibre of his being all of a sudden.

It was a need Aman was quite familiar with himself. His treacherous arms landed on Kartik’s shoulders of their own accord. Aman didn’t bother moving them.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”

Aman paused. Took a second to consider the situation, to figure out which way to proceed.

When he realised that every direction his imagination pulled him in led to exactly one outcome, and Aman had no choice but to laugh at himself.

What was he doing?

It had been so goddamn long since they had, shall we say, engaged in activities they usually didn’t do on table tops. Too fucking long, even. They had been so busy off late, what with Kartik trying to get his bar to take off (which was going pretty well, surprisingly. Or unsurprisingly, depending on whom you ask) and Aman trying to make good on his new job as a teacher. Unfortunately, it seemed like teaching a bunch of overly restless teenagers about energy meant he had none left by the time he got home.

They just fell asleep next to each other sometimes. On the bed, on the couch, didn’t matter. They barely saw each other anymore and it was starting to wear on them.

And here Kartik was, freely offering to remedy the situation for them in the most enjoyable way possible. At the small, small cost of maybe tainting his desk forever. But that could be mostly done away with, with a bottle of colin, some water, and a sponge.

So why the hell was Aman refusing?

“Not for one second,” he whispered, and Kartik could’ve sworn he heard a slight growl in Aman’s voice.

Good god, his pants were tight.

And that was even before Aman roughly pulled him down by the neck, before he forced Kartik’s mouth open with his own (as if Kartik needed forcing), before he was drinking from Kartik like a man parched beyond belief. This was desperation, this was pure lust lined with a thin layer of long-sought-after relief, and it rendered Aman completely weak in the knees. His fingers looked for purchase every which way they possibly could, and finally settled in Kartik’s hair, the other hand gripping his shoulder from the back, like he was clinging for dear life. It offered him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss. To turn it into something wetter and decidedly more dirty. If that were even possible.

Kartik let his arms roam freely, in Aman’s gorgeous hair, on his neck, on his back, lower and lower until his palm found the curve of his ass. And was very happy to linger there to his heart’s desire. Aman made that same pleased little noise he always made, the one that erupted from his chest and nearly died out in his throat but fought its way through anyway, that sound halfway between a moan and a whimper that drove Kartik absolutley fucking insane.

He wanted- no, needed- to hear it again. And again, and again until Aman was too exhausted, too hoarse to make that sound anymore.

They broke apart for mere seconds, still seconds too long, to catch their breath and allow Kartik to effortlessly pick Aman up and lower him onto the table. All while maintaining eye contact.

This was happening. No going back now.

Aman couldn’t fucking wait.

Kartik’s fingers somehow found the hem of Aman’s shirt through the flood of endorphins coursing through his veins. A miracle, really, considering how Aman seemed to be insistent upon fucking devouring Kartik, not letting him break away or let his attention waver for half a damn second. Not that Kartik minded, of course. Aman wanted to be kissed until he was positively gasping for air, and Kartik was only too happy to oblige.

Kartik let his fingers dance along Aman’s suddenly sensitive skin as he undid the buttons and lifted the shirt over his head. The shirt did come off eventually, but not before getting snagged on Aman’s face first. Kartik had forgotten to undo the last button in his (completely understandable) haste to feel Aman’s skin against his, and the end result was a bewildered Aman stuck in a mustard coloured face-prison.

Kartik simply had to laugh.

Come on, it was funny.

“Stop laughing and get me out of here, slick fingers,” Aman chuckled, unable to help himself.

He loved this absolute disaster of a man. Loved him with all his heart and more.

Kartik continued laughing as he undid the button and pulled the shirt off his boyfriend’s head. And he didn’t stop even after, much to Aman’s amusement.

Aman decided to take things into his own hands. He would simply have to kiss him into silence.

Easy enough.

Kartik dodged Aman’s kiss, much to Aman’s confusion. Aman did plan to voice his displeasure, but Kartik’s dodge was apparently a precursor to him leaving a wet, rather discoloured mark at the base of his inviting neck, so he had no reason to complain.

The sudden vacuum that met his skin, the softness of his lips, the light graze of Kartik’s teeth- Aman’s sharp gasp was all the encouragement Kartik needed to continue, divert his attention to other parts of his boyfriend that so clearly craved it.

Aman barely registered what was happening before Kartik was working away at the zipper on Aman’s jeans, flying completely blind as he pulled it down, reached in and finally, finally freed Aman of his lethally suffocating confines.

He savoured the relieved, blissful sigh he received, savoured the way it was cut off by a short moan when his hand wrapped itself around him. Aman’s eyes widened, his hips thrust into Kartik’s grasp subconsciously, and Kartik’s shameless look of pride went tragically unseen.

One pump, and another, and another later Kartik was pulling his hand away, ignoring Aman’s whine at the sudden loss of his grip.

“Kartik… please-”

They had barely begun, and Aman was reduced to a needy, begging mess already.

Brilliant.

The next part might just fucking kill him.

“Don’t stop, don’t- _oh-”_

He got on his knees, took Aman into his mouth and watched through heavy eyelids as Aman nearly fucking lost it right there.

“Kartik, _please,_ I- _God_ -”

Aman.

His Aman.

Singing the prettiest little notes he had heard in all years of life.

It was beautiful. Absolutely, heart stopping fucking levels of beautiful.

He felt fingers above him dance idly over his head, playing at entwining themselves in his hair, and Kartik pushed them away almost instantly. This was his goddamn show. He was in charge here. He controlled what he did, how much of it he did, and how long he did it.

Aman, surprisingly, seemed more than okay with that today. Kartik’s mouth was doing things to him that he couldn’t begin to comprehend, couldn’t ever get enough of. He wasn’t about to interrupt.

Kartik proceeded to torture him slowly, with nothing but his stupid, skillful tongue and his equally gifted fingers. He felt Aman grow harder and harder under the influence of his unyielding, expert maneuvers and barely came up for a second to catch his breath, before he was taking Aman back in. As deeply, as far as his body allowed him to. Because Aman deserved the fucking best Kartik could give him.

Aman deserved the best. Period. This goddamn angel of a man, the light of Kartik’s life, deserved all the good things the world could offer him and more.

Kartik pulled off without warning, let Aman’s squirm of painful discomfort travel to his own pants (which had grown super fucking tight and uncomfortable, holy shit), and took a second to stifle his own needy whimper. He couldn't let Aman have the upper hand, no sir.

He placed a delicate, loving kiss into the inside of Aman’s thigh, sending vibrations shooting from there straight into Aman’s chest.

Sure, Aman deserved the best.

But not just yet.

Kartik stood up languidly, a little overwhelmed and breathless from all he had done for the past- god knows how long, honestly, he'd been a little too occupied with the breathtaking man all sprawled out in front of him to keep track of time. He couldn’t think to do anything but stare at Aman, stare at the redness in his cheeks and the heaving of his chest. He lost track of himself for a second there.

Aman, of course, sensed it immediately, and drew the love of his life closer for an achingly gentle kiss. Just to get those brainwaves moving once more. A simple brush of the lips, just a few notches above what would be considered a peck.

It was more than enough to get Kartik going again. Aman yanked his tshirt off (he absently wondered why he hadn’t until now), and let his hands roam freely over Kartik’s chest, over his beautiful bare back, feeling for age old scars out of sheer force of habit.

Kartik didn’t mind. He actually admitted to Aman once that it was soothing. Made him feel safe, like having someone touch those scars without feeling them hurt reminded him of how far he had come from that hell-hole of a childhood home.

Aman didn't let himself think about that. Not now. Not here.

He chose to distract himself with the idea of leaving a mark of his own. Just as Kartik had done to his neck. He let go of the idea, however, as he watched Kartik fight a losing battle with his pants (more like shackles, dear god, they hurt).

“Need some help?” It was Aman’s turn to smirk.

Kartik frowned

“No. Yes. Shut up.”

Aman helped himself to a chuckle as his hand snaked between them, travelling lower and lower until they found exactly what they were looking for. He undid the button and pulled the zipper down with ease, much to Kartik’s annoyance, but the annoyance was quickly replaced by a nearly numbing loss of tension as his pants were kicked off, and his underwear pulled down. Aman let his hands linger for a second, barely managed to grasp Kartik in all his glory before Kartik was batting his hands away.

Again.

And was smirking at Aman.

Again.

Aman might snap and punch him.

Kartik studied Aman for a second, like he was regarding a particularly interesting looking bug on the ground. Curious. Amused. A little amazed.

_(What on earth-)_

And then he leaned in, got closer and closer until his lips grazed the shell of Aman’s ear, sending shudder after shudder running through Aman’s already eager body.

“Appreciate it,” he whispered slowly, like Aman had just offered to iron his fucking clothes or something, “But not today.”

And that was accompanied by a frustratingly light kiss on his cheek, that sent the blood in Aman’s head (or what little was left of it) rushing southwards anyway.

The things this man did to him, honestly.

He dragged Kartik in for another touch, another taste, of those lips he couldn’t ever get bored of, but stopped when he realised they were missing something.

“Kartik,” he blinked twice, “Condoms.”

Kartik licked his lower lip.

“Reach back into the top left drawer for me.”

Aman did as he was told, rooted around blindly in the drawer behind him until he found exactly what he was looking for: a bunch of condoms in a bunch of different colours.

It was all very ‘pretty woman,’ he mused.

He was right.

Kartik, meanwhile, had launched into a monologue of his own, each phrase punctuated by a chaste kiss placed into some part of Aman’s face, each word uttered in his best julia roberts impression (which, honestly, wasn’t that good, but it was cute that he was trying)

“I got red,” kiss, “I got green,” kiss, “I got yellow…” kiss, “I'm out of purple, but I do have one Gold Circle coin left... the condom of champions... the one and only…” kiss, “nothin' is gettin' through this sucker. Whaddya say, hmm?”

The last phrase ended with a kiss to Aman’s lips, which were curled into a smile.

What a ridiculous man, he’d fallen so desperately in love with.

“...really? Did you have to?”

Kartik pulled back, solely to give Aman the most judgmental look he could muster.

“Why you keep asking questions you already know the answers to, I shall never understand.”

“Fair enough,” Aman laughed, drawing his boyfriend in for a delighted kiss.

Kartik didn’t break the kiss once as he gently pushed Aman back onto the table. He pushed himself back up, and rolled the condom (the gold one, he accepted nothing less) onto himself as Aman watched in longing. His gaze did not shift from Aman’s eyes.

Aman bit his lip.

Exhaled rather harshly.

Swallowed hard.

Then suddenly remembered the glasses still present on his face.

Oh, that wouldn’t do. He had somehow ended up damaging his contact lenses as it was, he couldn’t risk breaking these too. He needed them at least until his new, more durable contacts came in.

His hands were on his glasses when Kartik spoke up.

“No.” he choked out, halting Aman’s actions right there. His voice was at least an octave lower than usual and twice as rough, and it drove Aman fucking wild.

“Keep them on.”

“The glasses?” Aman asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Kartik nodded quickly.

They were completely innocent, Aman would even go so far as to call them boring.

But, like anything else Aman ever wore, Kartik seemed to have developed an intense liking for them.

“Promise you’ll be careful?”

Kartik nodded again, about twice as vigorous this time.

Aman smiled and let his hands fall away, much to Kartik’s glee. He didn’t know what it was about those glasses. They just… did things to him. Aman was more comfortable with contacts, so he rarely ever got to see these. But the times he did…

“Kartik.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts. “hm?”

“I meant with me too, not just with these,” he tapped his glasses, “it’s been a while.”

Ah. Right.

He had forgotten about that.

God, they hadn’t had sex in so fucking long, and the joy he got from the knowledge that they were finally fixing that was.... nigh incomparable to anything else.

“Fingers first?”

Aman paused. Thought about it. Then agreed.

“Fingers first.”

Kartik started at Aman’s shoulders, running his thumbs along Aman’s defined collarbones, then proceeded to trail his hands down Aman’s divine body. He didn’t hurry, touching, worshipping every inch of skin on his boyfriend that he could get at, enjoying every slow sigh Aman let out. Each caress along Aman’s skin left a burning heat in its wake. He finally reached his destination, felt his breath catch in his throat as he spread Aman apart.

God. This sight.

This fucking sight.

He took in the heavenly picture in front of him, took in Aman Tripathi all open and wanton, desperate to feel Kartik inside him. He didn’t give Aman what he so clearly desired, oh no. Kartik took his sweet time, probing, teasing, almost taunting him, but not giving in. He lowered his head, added his tongue to the already maddening combination of fingers, and Aman couldn’t hold it in anymore. He couldn’t.

“Please,” Aman begged through clenched teeth, “Just, _god_ , just-”

And Kartik gave in.

He forced his middle finger into Aman, gentle as he could, gentle as his tense fingers would allow, and Aman felt that familiar, rather uncomfortable stretch that preceded overwhelming pleasure.

His eyes closed of their own accord, and Aman was too preoccupied, too lost in all that Kartik was making him feel, to even think of fighting them. Another finger, a slow twist in the clockwise direction, and a few shallow thrusts later, Aman was giving Kartik the go-ahead. He was beyond words, beyond all coherent thought, save for those moments of lucidity that allowed him to plead for more. His green light came in the form of a short, desperate nod that Kartik simply pretended not to notice.

He seemed to be in a particularly infuriating mood today.

“Kartik, I swear-”

He was cut off mid sentence when his exasperating boyfriend’s incredibly talented fingers reaching... _that_ spot inside him, that spot which put stars in his eyes, made him ball his hands up into fists, and blurred his goddamn vision.

_Lord._

Kartik didn’t stop when he knew he hit that spot, because it was so much fun to watch Aman squirm, watch him try and fail to get Kartik’s fingers to go faster, to apply more pressure, to- just, anything, anything that didn’t involve them just sitting there stock-still. Fucking hell.

But Kartik wasn’t that evil, no. He could let Aman have his way just a little. He could jerk his finger around just a little, press into him just a little harder, force Aman’s trembling legs back down- and so he did that, did all of that and more, until even that wasn’t enough. Until Kartik’s fingers simply ceased to suffice, and Aman was begging for more, more, _more._

Aman needed Kartik. And he needed him now.

“More of this?” Kartik thrust in sharply, eliciting the sweetest cry a man could make.

“Fuck’s sake- _you_ , I need _you_ , not your stupid, stupid skinny fingers, _fuck_ -”

“My fingers are just fine!” Kartik laughed, clearly getting a kick out of how he was so effortlessly making the ever-eloquent Aman Tripathi ramble on like an idiot.

Aman sat up suddenly, pushed himself up on his elbows and fixed Kartik with an indescribably sexy, obviously homicidal glare. The smile on Kartik’s face slipped into something a little smaller and a lot less smug. Aman let himself revel in the fact that he could do this to Kartik with but one look.

“I will,” he paused for effect, “walk away from this table.”

To say Kartik was caught off guard was an understatement.

“...you wouldn’t.”

Would he?

Aman raised an eyebrow, like he often did when he was accepting a challenge. Aman was, surprisingly, more of a “dare” person than a “truth” person, Kartik had come to learn.

“Wouldn’t I?”

His mouth posed a question, but his eyes posed a threat.

Oh dear.

Kartik swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was ready to question Aman. He couldn’t risk actually having Aman walk away. Not in this state, good lord.

He looked down and laughed softly.

“Brat.”

Aman smirked.

“Jerk.”

Kartik leaned in through pleased laughter, and Aman prepared himself for having the living daylights kissed out of him. But all Kartik did was leave the softest of kisses on Aman’s lips, prompting the tiniest smile out of the corner of his mouth, despite himself.

In his defense, Kartik often had that effect on him.

Kartik lined himself up, noted the way Aman held his breath, the way his hands clutched the sides of the table hard enough for his knuckles to turn white, the way his eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of what was coming.

He took his time to toy with Aman just a little longer. Just a few more seconds. Just about enough to… give Aman the smallest taste of all Kartik wanted to do with him, to him, in him.

Aman whimpered, quiet and restrained. A whimper Kartik probably would have missed, had all his senses not been dialled up to a fucking 12. And then his arm was flying up, grasping aimlessly at Kartik’s bicep, just itching to drag him in closer, fucking _christ_.

Enough was enough.

Apparently, Kartik was of the same mind.

He drew in a short, quick breath himself, gently probed at Aman a little more, and-

_Oh._

Oh, it’s...

The slide in is exquisite, it’s downright fucking sinful. It's ecstasy to a degree Aman hasn’t experienced in so, so long and he can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes his throat just then. He can’t help but throw his head back and and cry out as Kartik pushes into him slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Inch by torturous inch of pure, mind numbing pleasure.

Kartik doesn’t fare any better. His nerves were on fucking fire, every moment he spent inching deeper and deeper into the love of his life until he didn’t have anything left to give, set off fucking earthquakes in the pleasure centres of his brain. He barely made it halfway through when his own moaning filled the room, perfectly mirroring Aman’s.

He felt Kartik’s fingers dig hard into his hips, felt a shudder pass through his boyfriend, and Aman’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Euphoria.

It took Aman a moment to adjust, of course it did. They hadn’t had sex in two months as it was, but it had been longer still since Aman had had Kartik inside of him.

Kartik waited, gave Aman all the time he needed.

He would always wait for Aman.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was in any hurry. The delectably tight heat around him was almost too much to take in all at once, too much pleasure for his nerves all in one short second, and he found himself needing a moment (or several) himself.

In sync, as always.

“God-” Kartik choked out, “Missed this, missed this so fucking much.”

Aman was about to reply, about to agree with him, when Kartik pulled back nearly all the way and rammed himself back in. Aman may have clenched his teeth, or he may have screamed, who knew at this point. He sure didn’t.

So much for replying.

“So fucking perfect,” Kartik whispered, like he was uttering revered words, something so special and sacred that they couldn’t be uttered out loud.

“So fucking perfect, and all mi- oh, _oh_ -” his words broke off into a moan as he found his rhythm, found the perfect pace and the perfect angle to thrust into Aman in a way that left them both completely incoherent.

Aman was wrecked, completely lost for him and he wasn’t holding back. Not one bit. Kartik was shoved inside him far enough for Aman to feel it in his goddamn chest, and the absolute last thing on his mind was to hold back. Every little jerk, every little movement set off embers in every goddamn cell in Aman’s body. He clenched up involuntarily at some point, he must have. Because Kartik’s eyes flew wide open, there were sounds coming from his chest that Aman couldn’t forget if he tried, and could see- no, feel- the raw disbelief in his eyes.

Disbelief that even after this long, after years of being together, it could be this fucking good between them.

Kartik’s pace didn’t let up, not for a damn second. Just uninterrupted, unabating thrust after goddamn thrust like he didn’t ever intend on stopping, or hell, even slowing down. The man had stamina and Aman couldn’t ever stop being thankful for that.

_(“it’s because I eat eggs,” Kartik would have said, if he had been able to do so._

_Aman would’ve rolled his eyes at that. If he had been able to do so.)_

He let go of the table, brought a hand up to Kartik’s face, and felt his heart swell when Kartik held his wrist and kissed his palm.

The sharp contrast between the kiss and… everything else was almost hilarious.

But this was Kartik. Always multitasking.

Aman let his other hand go free too, searching desperately to find any sort of purchase, anything to hold onto that was a little more pleasant than the edge of the table. His fingers were starting to cramp and the absolute last thing he needed was a time-out to get the blood flowing in his fingers again. His hands were in the air for a mere second or two.

But Kartik saw his chance. And took it.

His hands left Aman’s waist in the blink of an eye, and before Aman could even figure out what was happening, Kartik was pinning Aman's wrists on either side of his head. Aman gasped, made the mistake of looking into Kartik’s eyes, and saw that devilish look in them that only meant more trouble for him.

_God, what now?_

His question was answered when Kartik slowed his pace, used his new position to take advantage of the new angle and thrust even deeper into Aman. Like he wasn’t losing his mind already. Like he wasn’t so fucking close to coming undone already.

On the plus side, this meant Kartik’s face was a lot closer to Aman’s, so it was a lot easier for Kartik to lean in just a little further and capture Aman’s lips with his. A lot easier to moan into Aman’s mouth, a lot easier to feel his breath quicken, a lot easier to enjoy the look of sheer indignation on Aman’s face as Kartik pushed himself back up, denying Aman the kiss he so clearly wanted. Aman whined, and Kartik let it go right to his ego.

And elsewhere. Kartik was breathing harshly, making little sounds every once in a while that Aman wasn’t sure he even knew he was making. Little gasps, quiet whimpers, the occasional rise in his voice

All those sounds Kartik was making- they were loud, they were noisy, they were messy.

They were music to Aman’s ears.

Aman felt Kartik’s hold on his wrists slacken, felt his fingers move up and up until they were lacing themselves with Aman’s, holding his hand like he didn’t ever plan to let go. And Aman held his right back.

He let his eyes open just a little, just enough for him to catch Kartik’s face coming closer once again (thank god-) before he was giving Aman... an eskimo kiss. Kartik rubbed the tip of his nose against Aman’s, let a near imperceptible smile sneak onto his face, and Aman’s heart nearly exploded at that.

He had been expecting something else entirely.

It was an action so tender, so heartfelt and loving that Aman would have found it adorable, had it not been for the context in which it had taken place.

Still. It was nice.

That was, of course, until Kartik was pulling back a little, looking at Aman as if to say “Can you guess what’s coming?”

Aman almost instantly recognised that dreadful expression. It was same same evil fucking grin, that one that graced his face when he...

Fuck.

_Fuck._

FUCK.

...Sped up without warning.

“ _Kar_ -” was as far as Aman got, before another moan forced itself out of his mouth, before he was arching his back and crushing Kartik’s fingers with his own.

This was exactly what Kartik wanted.

And he wanted more.

Kartik watched with cocky satisfaction as his boyfriend's eyes widened to near impossible levels, rolled back a little, and then clamped shut immediately.

He did this.

He did this to Aman.

He was the only one allowed to do this to Aman.

The things that simple fact did to him…

Kartik felt a familiar tug at the pit of his stomach, felt his legs tense up just a little more and knew then that he had to get Aman off. Had to get him off fast.

He began rutting into him in earnest, chasing his own peak as much as he wanted to deliver Aman his. His rhythm faltered, his breathing became more ragged, and Aman just began preparing himself for what seemed to be the end of an extremely entertaining half hour when Kartik abruptly pulled out, took his hands off Aman’s wrists and put all his weight back on his feet.

Aman was ready to stab him with the pen in his drawer.

Until, of course, Kartik grabbed his legs and roughly yanked him almost impossibly close, yanked Aman back onto himself and continued the same rough pace he had set for them.

Aman was close. He was so fucking close, dear god. He didn’t think he could make it much longer if they continued this way, if Kartik continued pounding into him like it was now or fucking never. Aman reached between them, tried to relieve some of the suffocating pressure that spanned his entire body, and felt his hands being roughly shoved aside. Almost as if they were an inconvenience.

“Kartik, what-”

And then he felt it.

His angelic, fucking deviant of a boyfriend began jerking him off like his forearm ran on energizer batteries, pumping up and down and up and down like there was no fucking tomorrow. Aman’s eyes were nearly screwed shut, but Kartik was telling him to look. Kartik was telling him- no, demanding that he watch, and Aman did not have it in himself to disobey. Aman did not have it in him to do anything but whisper the occasional expletive and do exactly as he was told. He was feeling too much too intensely for there to be any room for rebellion.

So he looked down. Saw that determined hand relentlessly working him to completion, saw the equally determined expression on Kartik’s face, saw those gracefully long fingers digging into his thigh.

And that.

That right there.

Was Aman’s undoing.

He threw his head back hard enough to make a dent in his table, arched his back in the most graceful curve Kartik had ever had the pleasure of seeing, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Pleasure beyond words.

Kartik was proud.

He felt Aman’s legs clench beside him, watched his hands curl into the tightest fists man could make as wave after wave crashed through him, leaving him scarcely able to breathe. He licked his lips at the sight of that gorgeous, completely exposed neck and briefly considered leaving yet another mark on it. But that could wait until Aman was breathing again. All Aman could do right now was let out little whimpers, little gasps as his release brought him to the very brink of his sanity. Kartik caressed his waist, tried to soothe him through it and treasured the way Aman shuddered under his touch.

Then suddenly, as quick as it had come, the tension in Aman’s chest was gone. His legs were unclenching, and he was falling back down in a boneless mess. Every breath took effort and Aman felt like his body had just shut down entirely.

Kartik’s hand didn’t leave him once through it all.

Aman had to tap it twice to make him let go.

Kartik continued thrusting even after, quick, sharp movements without much focus that sent lightning coursing through every goddamn vein in Aman’s body, exhausted and hypersensitive as he was. It was only seconds later that there was a little smile on Aman’s face that made its way there without his knowing, and it was that utterly blissed-out, breathtakingly debauched expression that pushed Kartik over the edge.

Aman watched his boyfriend falter, felt his hips stutter to a halt. Kartik’s toes curled on the hard floor beneath, his breathing stopped mid-inhale, and he looked Aman straight in the eye. Like there wasn’t anywhere else he wanted to look. Hell, there wasn’t anywhere else he would let himself look.

Just Aman’s eyes, Just those eyes that Kartik simply loses his entire self in every so often, those eyes that mirror all the love that Kartik holds for man right back.

It’s scarcely a second long, but it’s a second that’s going to linger in Aman’s mind for a long, long time. He’s sure.

And then the spell broke, but it was replaced by something so much better. Kartik surged forward and collapsed into Aman. His body was still rigid to the touch as he buried his face in Aman’s neck, placed his palms flat on Aman’s biceps and lost himself. It was his turn now, his turn to let the pressure wrack his body and take his breath away.

He barely registered Aman’s arms come up to clutch at his broad shoulders. Didn’t register the pleased little sound Aman made as Kartik let out a deliciously drawn out moan, somewhat muffled by the crook of Aman’s neck.

All he was aware of was the blood rushing in his ears, of Aman’s neck against his lips. All he was aware of was Aman clenched around him, unrelenting pressure that dragged all he had out of him. Until he was reduced to barely-there pulses, soft moans, and slow, deep breaths.

He felt himself grow soft, still buried deep inside his boyfriend and sighed in sheer contentment. This was the kind of high that couldn’t possibly be outshined by anything else and Kartik let himself ride it out. Took in all of it before it left, before it made way for something more gentle.

Finally, he slowly pulled out with a softly whispered “fuck”, but made absolutely no effort to push himself back up. His limbs were suddenly heavy, he was bone tired and breathless and so, so content.

He stayed there, unmoving, until he felt Aman’s fingers softly tug at the hair at his nape. He shifted his weight to his elbows, raised himself up just about enough to get a good look at Aman’s face. The expression on his boyfriend’s face was an odd cross between sleepy and stoned and it made Kartik chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Aman asked, voice slurred like he was drunk.

Kartik’s chuckle shifted into something a little louder and a lot more amused.

Aman didn’t really know why he was laughing, but it was goddamn adorable and he found himself laughing along with Kartik. He didn’t really know why he was joining in, but they were both being flooded by endorphins and dopamine goddamnit, they were allowed tiny expressions of delirious happiness.

They laughed together until Kartik’s laughter slowly died down, taking Aman’s with it. His face adopted a painfully fond expression, something so delicately adoring that it made Aman’s breath catch in his throat. Something in Kartik’s eyes had him enraptured, had him following Kartik’s gaze as he pushed himself off the table, had him sitting up himself and dragging Kartik closer and closer. He wrapped Kartik in an embrace so passionate, that Kartik had to look up at the ceiling and blink thrice to steady himself.

When he looked back down, Aman was resting his chin on kartik’s shoulder, and kartik’s heart melted. He turned his head, and Aman felt a chaste kiss being pressed into his temple. He smiled, marveling for the thousandth time at how Kartik could oscillate this rapidly between rough and tender. But here he was, doing exactly that.

“Aman?”

“Mm?” Aman hummed, still too tired for words.

Aman knew exactly what was coming. Those three words that Kartik never failed to say to him at least once a day, for years now, those three words that made him feel so safe and so warm by mere utterance. Those three words that Kartik said to him wordlessly a million times a day, but Aman cherished each time nonetheless.

“This table rocks.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this unholy mess, don't forget to leave a kudos (or mayhaps, a comment???) if you did <3
> 
> @shubhmangalzyadasaavdhan on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
